Vael just frowned and rolled his eyes like this was a great inconvenience—uncaring about how many innocent lives would be lost if Ashton dared to strike.
“How dramatic,” he muttered, dabbing his mouth with a cloth napkin. “He never could resist a stage.”
Ivan, for his part, chuckled softly. “He always did prefer spectacle to subtlety.”
“Please, sir—he’s threatening to burn the town to the ground,” the servant tried again.
Vael narrowed his eyes. “So?”
The servant blanched. “I’m sorry, sir.”
He turned and bolted from the room.
I just stared after him in disbelief.
I shouldn’t be surprised by his callousness, but still.
“You sicken me.” I sneered.
Vael only smiled.
Their voices blurred after that. Talk of troop movement, of sentinels and sabotage, of ward reinforcement along the lower city edge. As if none of it mattered.
A messenger arrived and whispered something in Ivan’s ear. He looked up at me and met my eyes momentarily, a smug smile on his face.
“It would seem my guest has arrived. Excuse me.” Ivan smiled to Vael.
But I wasn’t listening anymore.
My attention had shifted—to the servant.
She’d been watching me all night. Not with suspicion, but with purpose. A strange glint in her eyes, like she wanted me to see her. Toknowher. She couldn’t have been more than seventeen, slight and pale beneath her grey smock and frilled cap.
I took a chance.
My elbow nudged the wine glass—just enough. It tipped, slow as a heartbeat, then fell. Blood-red liquid spilled like a wound across the table, soaking into my pale pink dress. The glass shattered on the floor.
A sharp gasp came from down the table. Someone swore.
I rose fast, clutching my napkin like a flustered fool, dabbing at the spreading stain. The wine bled down my front in a dark, blooming streak.
“I—gods, I’m so sorry,” I murmured, letting my voice tremble.
Vael’s jaw clenched. Ivan paused mid-step, raising a brow, amused.
But I wasn’t watching them.
I was watchingher.
And just as I’d hoped, she moved—swift and quiet, head bowed, a cloth already in her hands.
She knelt by my feet. I did too.
Our eyes met for a half-second.
That was all I needed.
Her fingers brushed mine—just once—as she pressed a fresh napkin into my hand. It felt stiff. Heavier than cloth should feel.
